In Spite of What We Do
by Alertbay
Summary: In spite of his training and expertise, sometimes the big, bad world just comes crashing down on Harry Pearce and his family.
1. Chapter 1

In spite of the security system and the watchdog and his professional expertise, they still found a way into his home, his haven of retreat, the dome of protection he meant to provide his family. He woke to a fist in his face, a twist of his arms, soon clasped tightly in zipcuffs, the floor rising up to meet his body, the pressure of two knees pressing the air from his lungs, the screams of his wife nearly driving him insane as his grown son was flung to the floor beside him, unconscious, blood trickling down his temple, drawn inexorably down by gravity and blood pressure.

Pulled upright, he gasped in a breath to fill his lungs, wishing to calm his wife but seeing nought of her but her pillow and a discarded mauve dressing gown. His son continued to lie motionless at his feet.

"Ruth!" he hollered and then the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry gradually became aware of the world around him because of the pain shooting lightning bolts of fire from temple to temple, radiating, he was certain, from somewhere deep inside his brain which inexplicably warred between terror and despair. He coughed twice when he tried to swallow, the spasms forcing him to realize that at least one of his ribs was cracked or broken.

The frequency of the throbbing in his head accelerated at the noise surrounding him and he wished to produce enough saliva to tell the groaner to "shut up!" until he realized that the voice was his own. Once the recognition of his own pain filtered through his groggy brain, Harry took stock of his body. _Lying prone, at least one rib cracked, abdominal bruising—ugh—a head wound, and dehydration. _

He thumbed his wedding ring, feeling the reassuring coldness. _Not a robbery._ Wrists bound in zipcuffs not handcuffs, in front of me not behind me. _Interesting._ He opened his eyes to see the cold, grey concrete floor beneath him. _Not blindfolded. _

He shifted his head to evaluate the area directly in his field of vision, seeing concrete, dust—in fact, sunlight was filtering through the dust in the air. _It's morning—mid to late morning by the angle of the sun. _He tilted his head a fraction, surveying the room within his view. _Large, cavernous. Unfinished walls. Discarded mattresses and broken wooden chairs._

Tentatively, Harry began to raise his body, moving slowly to give his vestibular system time to keep up with his exploration and forcing his mind to remain on the task at hand—discovery—rather than the locating of his family, else his mind would be lost, preventing him from rational thought.

Slowly pushing to kneel, he carefully turned his head, seeing a pyjama clad body lying prone on a filthy mattress against the far wall, curly brown hair framing the head like a dirty blonde halo. _Graham._ Harry pushed to stand, staggering over to kneel beside his son, brushing his cuffed hands through the curls, checking to feel the breeze of respiration on his fingertips, sighing back upon his heels. _At least he's alive._ Checking his son's body for injuries, Harry found nothing but the wound on Graham's temple, the oozing blood coagulated, leading a trail to the laceration and contusion imparted by a blunt object of some kind. Gently fingering around the wound, Harry felt no fractures. _Concussion._ He sighed in relief.

Graham groaned and began to move. Harry leaned close to his son's face, speaking very quietly.

"Graham. Graham, can you hear me?" Harry whispered.

"Daddy?" Graham gulped. "Dad?"

"Son, listen to me. Mmmm means 'yes'. One short cough means 'no'. Understand?"

"Mmmm."

Harry sighed in relief. "Are you injured?" COUGH

"Does your belly hurt?" COUGH

"Your chest?" COUGH

"Your head?" Mmmm

"I think it's best if they believe you to be more incapacitated than you actually are. You're not handcuffed. We may need that advantage later. Do you understand?"

"Mmmm."

"You know that I love you, son?"

"Mmmm."

Harry stroked Graham's hair again moving to pat his shoulder. He had one more question. "Do you know what they've done to Ruth?"

COUGH


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sat back heavily, keeping one hand on Graham's back. Now was the time to find his wife. _Ruth, where are you?_ Harry groaned in dread. _My darling wife. My child._ Panic pushed at the edges of his mind but he controlled it. He couldn't afford not to.

Walking the perimeter of the room, Harry carefully searched for anything that would give them an advantage, secreting two wooden chair legs beside the mattress Graham lay upon and locating a sharpened length of metal which he tested on the edges of his zipcuffs, noting with satisfaction the shallow slice produced along the plastic. Placing the—

The process was interrupted by the clanging gong of the door handle as it impacted the wall. Four men entered the room, three with guns raised and one brandishing a buckknife. Two men stood watch at the entryway, and then in walked Ruth. _Ruth._ Clad in mauve silk pyjama bottoms and one of his white t-shirts which covered her pregnant belly, she ran toward him and he met her advance, sliding his bound wrists over her head and shoulders, pulling her tightly against him. Her unbound hands drew him closer.

"Ruth," he murmured in his ear. "I was so afraid for you. Are you hurt?" She shook her head against his chest. "The baby?"

"We're both fine, darling. How's Graham?"

"Concussion. He's playacting," he whispered very quietly into her ear. She nodded to confirm his message. "Do you know what's going on?" She shook her head.

The wiry fellow with the knife advanced toward them, his brand new army boots squeaking with each step, his sunglasses pushed to rest upon his jet black hair above his deeply tanned face, eyes narrowed in fury or keen interest, it was difficult to tell. "Well, what a sweet reunion," he mocked, the rich timbre of his voice lost to the spite in his eyes. "You have twenty minutes and then we will return. Make good use of your time but be sensible. You will be spending a good many days with us, best not to make enemies of those who could be your friends." One snap of his fingers emptied the room of aggressors.

Ruth slumped against Harry's chest, no longer feeling the need to 'be strong'. "Harry, what is going on? Who are these people?"

He shook his head. "I have no idea." Raising his arms, he released her, moving back over to continue sawing the plastic bindings from his wrists. He noted that Ruth moved over to Graham, sitting beside him on the mattress, leaning over to speak discreetly to him. Once freed, Harry joined them, rubbing his wrists to extinguish the burn from the friction of plastic against skin.

Graham's head was turned toward Ruth, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. "What do we do, Dad?"

"Ruth lies down on the mattress and keeps watch, you grab one chair leg and I grab the other. When Ruth gives the signal, we attack, and then we run," Harry instructed. Ruth and Graham nodded and switched positions. Harry took up his place behind the door and Graham flattened himself against the wall on the other side of the doorway. They waited—vigilantly.


	4. Chapter 4

"Now!" Ruth shouted.

Harry and Graham sprang into motion, swinging the chair legs like clubs, scattering their foes with a skill born of fear and just the hint of freedom. Always there seemed to be a new body to attack and Harry felt his arms grow heavy as assailant after assailant entered the room and was clubbed, forced, pushed, beaten away. He wasn't certain how many he rebuffed—but he knew that he missed one.

"Freeze!" Newboots instructed. Harry spun and advanced on the source of the command, lurching to a halt at what he saw: Ruth held by a fist of hair, her arms bound behind her, and a knife tip resting against her bellybutton.

"All right. All right! I give!" Harry surrendered, raising his arms. He watched the shock ping from Graham's eyes to his mind before he too raised his arms. Dropped to his knees by the butt of a submachine gun, Harry's hands were forced behind his back and trapped once again in zipcuffs, feeling like Caroline Wells in Ruth's book, _Forged in the Jungles of Burma_, punished for doing what was right. Graham was subjected to the same defeat.

Two more men entered the room, taking Newboots' place so that he could languidly pace the space between the two men, and the woman and unborn child. "I did warn you, did I not?" he accused. "Now, there is need for recompense."

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded to know, narrowing his eyes to study this man, this lunatic.

"One of you will be disciplined for this misbehavior. My first choice would be the woman as she would suffer the most."

Harry's mind blanked of any thought but crimson wrath. Struggling, he pushed to his feet, rushing toward his wife, frantic to guard her from any threat, a juggernaut of protection wheeling toward the woman who had restored hope to his life. The crack of a whip halted his progress for one split second.

"If you do not cease and desist, she will suffer for your disgraceful behaviour!" Newboots threatened, shouting to fill the spaces between Harry's furies.

"Dad! Stop!" Graham demanded. Harry stopped.

"Better. Who will accept the discipline?" Newboots began anew his languid pacing, pointing his whip alternately between the three of them.

Harry sighed, his eyes fixed on his wife. "Me. Of course me," he responded in disgust, looking away as Ruth shook her head in protest, her eyes filming with sorrow.

"No. Dad—" A fist silenced Graham's rebuke.

"Very well. It is done." Newboots returned his attention to his men. "Take them to the compound."

Once the room was emptied of all save Newboots, Harry and two guards, Harry noticed for the first time the metal loops in the wall at the end of the room. He gulped. Roughly forced across the room, Harry fought to remove himself from this bizarre situation, requiring the conscription of three more guards to accomplish the securing of Harry Pearce to the wall, his pyjama shirt raised to expose his back to the penalty for resistance.

"Five lashes for your first escape attempt. I must admit, sir, that yours was the most effective thus far. Begin."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry stumbled into a dimly lit room, a sanitized, diminutive twin to their previous accommodation, bare except for a double bed, and a second mattress on the floor. Groaning, he mused, _I remember now why I came out of the field and moved behind a desk._ Though his chest was on fire from each lightning bolt shot through his ribs from the beating, and his back throbbed with the memory of the burning lash applied there, he managed somehow to remain on his feet. _If that rib wasn't broken before, it is now. _Pausing to search the room with his eyes, Harry saw a body move from the bed and approach him.

"Harry! Oh, my love. What have they done to you?" Ruth gathered him into her arms, shifting her grip when he flinched at her touch on his back. "Oh, baby. What happened?"

"I'm fine, will be fine, anyway." He groaned loudly. "I'm getting too old for this."

Ruth led him to the bed, lowering him onto the mattress, helping him curl onto his side. He tugged her down beside him, resting his head on her thigh and his hand on her pregnant belly, wriggling until he found a bearable position, squeezing his eyes shut to cut down on the sensory input, but looking up when he heard her sob. "I'll be fine. Please don't cry," he beseeched her. He heard her sniff back her tears and felt her tender touch on his hair, eliciting a sigh from his lips. "Where's Graham?" he asked.

"He went outside. There's an enclosed area through that door in the wall there that they seem to call the 'compound'," she informed him, reserve in her voice.

He could feel the tension arise when he mentioned his son. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he inquired.

"He's very angry, Harry. Furious."

Harry pushed up onto his elbow, just seeing past Ruth's belly to her eyes. "Why?"

"He was so mad when you offered to take the punishment in his stead."

"He's my son. I couldn't let him be flogged. Not when I could prevent it, take it on myself."

"Darling, I understand that, but he feels that he's been afforded the same treatment as your pregnant wife. He's a grown man. He feels the same urge to protect as you do."

Harry groaned again, this time from the source of internal pain. "I can't deal with this right now."

Ruth laid her hand gently on his head, stroking his hair. "You're going to have to, my love. How would you have felt if your father had born your consequences?"

"These were my consequences to bear," Harry protested.

"Don't be pompous," she reprimanded gently. "He wants to be trusted and valued by you—as a man, not a boy."

He readjusted his position slightly. "The reason he's with us, don't forget, is that he fell off the wagon—hard—after he was laid-off at work. He's not—"

"Everyone slips a few times, you know that. They told us this could happen. But he made a good choice—"

"Showing up at our door at three in the morning," Harry groused.

"Yes." Her gaze lanced into his, confirming her high opinion of Graham's decision to come to a safe haven rather than disappear to the streets again. "And he's been dry for the past three weeks." Harry returned her gaze, stubborn defiance in his eyes which vanished at her next words. "You do remember, don't you, that you promised to forego alcohol with Graham as an act of solidarity. How often have you been to _The George_ since that promise?"

He sighed in resignation. "Twice."

"He's doing well," she insisted.

"Yes. You're right, of course." He sighed. "He wants me to see him as a man," Harry repeated numbly. "Isn't one flogging a day enough?"

Ruth slipped her leg from beneath him and pressed him to lie on his stomach, his cheek pillowed on his hands as she moved his shirt, seeing the five long red welts crisscrossing his back, lightly fingering the circular welt on his side.

"Is your rib broken?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

"I think so," he responded, his voice muffled against the crook of his elbow.

She began to lightly trace the unblemished skin between the marks, soothing his pain, careful never to cause hurt. The throbbing pain would soon fade to bruised discomfort, he knew. In all that he had experienced of terror and torture in his life, this was quite minor. _I just thought I'd moved beyond the necessity for this type of suffering. Who are these people?_


	6. Chapter 6

Returned to the room, their cell of enforced containment, Graham retreated to the mattress on the floor, not sparing a word for his father but gracing Ruth with a solemn 'goodnight'.

Harry heaved himself off the bed and knelt on the mattress beside Graham. "Son." When Graham didn't respond to his words, Harry tried a different tactic. "I can't do this on my own, son, but I know I can rely on you." He pushed to stand, stumbling back to the bed, gingerly moving in beside Ruth, pulling her into his arms.

"Dad?" Graham called across the room.

"Yes?" Harry replied.

"Did they hurt you?"

"Yes." He grunted. "Ruddy well hurts, that's certain."

Graham chuckled wryly. "You can rely on me. Gotta watch over my little brother."

"Graham."

"Yes, Dad."

"I'm proud of you, son. You've become a man of strength and integrity."

"Thanks, Dad." The room was silent for a time. "Dad, who are these people? Is this because of your work?"

"I don't know."

"Five'll come for us, won't they, Harry?" She added in a whisper, "You're the DG, after all."

He sighed, reluctant to provide the answer he knew was accurate.

"Dad?"

"We're meant to start a two week vacation today. I told them that under no circumstances short of the apocalypse were we to be disturbed."


	7. Chapter 7

Once certain that Ruth was asleep, Harry slipped from bed to Graham's side, shaking his son's shoulder gently until he groaned awake.

"Shh," Harry reprimanded. "You were outside today?" Graham affirmed his query. "Tell me what you saw, exactly."

"Through the door is a caged area, completely enclosed, the only openings seem to be this door and a small trapdoor on the roof, sort of like the latch on a hamster cage but locked. It—well, it reminded me of a kennel."

"A kennel?" Harry repeated in astonishment.

"Yeah, or a zoo. There are—" He paused as he counted. "Eight enclosures circled around a central area. We have neighbours immediately to our left and two cages over from them."

"Could you see the surrounding countryside?" Harry inquired.

"No, not really. I spoke with the young woman beside us. She was French and the other family is Dutch."

"Hmmm. International." Inspiration struck. "Graham, do you remember when you were younger, you went through a brief period of interest in astronomy?" Graham affirmed. "Go outside and look up. Could you make a guess of where we are, based on the stars?"

Graham sat up tall. "I could try. As long as the night's clear." He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "You're brilliant, Dad!"

Harry remained inside, unwilling to leave Ruth unprotected. If there were locks on the outside doors, she could be separated from them and he simply wasn't willing to risk it. Harry returned to the bed, smiling when Ruth rolled against him, slipping her hand beneath his shirt before beginning to snore against his shoulder. He kissed her forehead, gathering her close. After a time, he was drawn from a light doze by a grip on his shoulder.

"Dad. It's definitely not the UK—south, I would say—maybe the Middle East?"

"Middle East." Harry nudged Ruth gently awake. "Darling. Ruth, wake up, please."

"What's wrong?" she moaned sleepily. "You okay?"

"Everything's fine. Do you think you could come outside for a moment and look at something?"

"Couldn't it wait 'till morning? Your child has been kicking me all night," she complained.

Graham chuckled beside them. "You seem to be cursed with difficult children, Dad."

"Definitely genetic," Ruth accused and Harry snorted, eliciting a chuckle from Graham. She heaved herself off the bed. "All right, what do you want?"

"Come outside," Harry instructed, holding her arm to steady her still-awakening body and mind. The three of them walked outside and Harry instructed her to look up.

She gazed to the heavens, her eyes sweeping back and forth until she gasped. "Cyprus!"


	8. Chapter 8

"Harry, what are we doing in Cyprus?" Ruth asked, astonished.

"I think I begin to understand," Harry replied mysteriously. "Cyprus has no extradition treaty with the UK."

Thoughtfully, Graham inquired, "Dad, why don't you believe this has to do with the Security Services?"

"Several reasons. These people don't seem to care who we are. They never use our names. When they had me chained to the wall, they asked no questions. They haven't taken our photos or made a video for a ransom demand. We've been asked to make no phone calls or supply anything that could be used as 'proof of life'."

"Then what is going on?" Ruth demanded to know, clutching Harry's arm tightly.

He covered her hand with his own. "A very elaborate robbery, I believe."

Graham replied thoughtfully, "Rather than a threat because of what you do, this has happened in spite of what you do?"

"I believe so. They transport their victims away at a time when they will not be missed. They use violence and threat to maintain control, and back home, they have two weeks to fence anything in the house."

"But, Harry, we're not novices at keeping secrets. How could they know we would be away? Graham, did you tell anyone?"

Graham frowned at the question. "No, of course not. No one but Catherine."

Harry snapped his fingers. "Prenatal classes."

"What?" Ruth exclaimed incredulously. "You think the midwife kidnapped us?"

"Three weeks ago, sitting in the little circle, we were encouraged to plan for a last baby-free vacation."

"Oh my goodness, Harry! I can't believe it! That's the reason we decided to take this little holiday!" She began to laugh, a joyous release from tension which she muffled against Harry's chest. "This is just too bizarre to believe." Harry kissed her hair, holding her close until she revealed whether she was coping or losing it. She settled eventually, pulling his head down for a kiss and then gracing her stepson with a kiss on the cheek. "Well, what are we going to do?"

"Escape," Harry replied simply. "We're going to gather intelligence and escape. We have thirteen days."


	9. Chapter 9

"These people have obviously not kept up on current events. The Cypriot government is keen to improve relations with Her Majesty's government and will gladly hand them over for justice. We just need to get out of here before our time is up."

Their plan required a three-pronged approach. Ruth was assigned the task of establishing contact with their neighbours and obtaining any intelligence possible. Graham's responsibility, assigned with Harry's grudging assent, was to test the boundaries of their confinement. Harry's job was to synthesize the intelligence gathered and come up with a plan.

Three days later, just before dark, Harry met Graham at the door to their cell, helping him find a comfortable position to lay his battered body on the bed. Ruth gingerly lifted the younger man's shirt, examining the ten crisscrossed welts across his back, determining that the skin was unbroken.

"Ruddy well hurts, Dad," Graham complained.

"I know, son," said Harry, his voice husky with emotion, setting his hand on his son's shoulder, maintaining contact and comfort.

"You were very brave, Graham," Ruth consoled, stroking his hair as a mother comforts her child. "Thank you for doing this."

He sighed happily despite the pain, excitement darting between his eyes. "I got what we wanted. The doors are guarded but the roof isn't. And—" He paused for effect. "There is a fire escape on the western edge of the building which reaches almost to the ground."

Harry squeezed Graham's shoulder firmly. "Well done, son!" Graham smiled against his arm. Harry continued, "Can you stay here and watch over Ruth? I'm going to pace the courtyard and think."

"The 'courtyard'? I like that. Yeah, I'll stay. Find us a way out of here, boss."

Harry smiled, walking outside and pacing the caged area. _Graham's right, this does feel like a zoo. Perhaps that's what it is, an abandoned private zoo of some sort. Hmmm, where would that place us on the island?_ Harry paced the small space, analyzing, synthesizing, debating. Looking up one last time to study the stars, inspiration struck. _Up. Roof. Of course!_

Harry burst back into the cell. "Ruth, Graham, I've got it." He stopped, frozen in place at what he saw, Graham laying on his belly, sleeping on his arms, a faint smile on his face, and Ruth sleeping on her back, one hand on Graham's shoulder and one hand on her belly, protectively comforting her children. Moving over to the bed quietly, he curled against Ruth, slipping one arm beneath her head and his other hand on top of hers. This would definitely rank in the years to come as one of his happiest visual memories—he'd just need to forget the context.

Harry woke to Ruth's complaint that "his child" was sitting on her bladder. He smiled fondly, kissing her soundly and moving away to clear her path to the toilet. Once she returned, he woke Graham, cautioning him to allow his muscles time to stretch out slowly.

"Ugh. Have you found a solution, Dad," Graham inquired, grimacing at the ache in his muscles and the throb from his back.

"I have indeed," Harry replied. They moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, holding their heads very close so as not to risk being overheard. "Tonight, after dark, I will pick the lock on the top of our cage and you and Ruth will climb out, creep across the roof and down the fire escape. Head north using the stars and find the nearest village. Once there, Ruth will be able to communicate with the locals, discover your location and obtain secure transport to the British High Commission in Nicosia. Graham, I need you to keep Ruth safe. Can you do that?"

"Of course. But what about you?"

Harry snorted. "I won't fit, so I'll remain behind. Please, find the help we need and come back and get me out of here."

They spent the day fashioning a set of lockpicks from the mattress springs and reviewing everything Ruth knew about Cyprus. Finally, night fell.

Sometime around midnight, Harry stood on Graham's aching, burning back, his arms raised above his head, picking the lock on their hamster cage, feeling Ruth's grip on his hips, stabilizing him. The final click denoted success and Harry let Ruth help him down, insisting on checking Graham's back before moving to the next phase.

"I'm fine, Dad, I'm fine. Will be fine, anyway. Stop fussing," Graham insisted.

Ruth chuckled, "You two are so alike." Both men gave her an incredulous look.

Harry gave Graham a hug and a kiss and then pulled Ruth to him, resting one hand on their child and one on her cheek. "I love you."

"We love you, too."

Harry made a stirrup with his hands, boosting Graham up and out the trapdoor, ignoring the burning it set off in his broken rib, and then did the same for Ruth, Graham reaching down to pull her through. Harry waved them off, reminding Graham to relock the cage. He listened to their retreating steps, holding one hand to his heart and one to the throbbing pain in his side. _Please protect them._


	10. Chapter 10

Graham kept one hand firmly against the small of Ruth's back, guiding her crouched form across the roof. The sweep of the searchlight approached. _Crap! Didn't know about that_. Ruth slapped at his chest, gaining his attention and pointing in the direction of the air conditioner unit. Changing direction quickly, he pulled her to kneel beside him behind the unit until the light swept past. Peeking around the corner, Graham reached back to take Ruth's hand, sprinting as quickly as possible while staying below the line of sight of those on the ground until they reached the edge of the flat-roofed building. Surveying the ground beneath the fire escape, Graham breathed a sigh of relief when it was clear.

"I'll go first," he whispered. Ruth nodded and he descended, waving her to join him as soon as possible, and then releasing his hold on the lowest rung and dropping to the ground. _No problem._ Ruth hesitated, looking down, likely seeing the space as a great chasm between herself and Graham's waiting arms.

"Ruth. Now!" he ordered in a terse whisper and she released her hold immediately, landing safely within his grasp.

"You know, you sounded just like your father then," she whispered in his ear before releasing her hold on him.

"Never," he retorted, smiling in spite of himself, gripping her hand tightly and leading her to the corner of the building, pausing and then sprinting to the cover of the woods.

Very quickly, he felt they'd left the compound behind, moving into a small forest of trees until in the dark, Graham walked smash-bang straight into a tree—no, wait, not a tree—a leg? Searching up and up, Graham detected the looming beast before them, and with his eyes adjusting to the darkness, released a short laugh.

"It's a dinosaur!" he exclaimed.

"A dinosaur?" Ruth queried. "What do you—" He heard her hand clap across her mouth. "You're right! It's a life-sized model of a dinosaur. And look over there. There are more of them." Cautiously pacing out into the darkened exhibit, she turned in wonder, surveying the vine-encrusted behemoth surrounding her. "I remember now, George once told me about an abandoned zoo with a dinosaur park to which his father had taken him as a boy. That must be where we are." Thoughtfully pacing between the hind legs of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, Ruth spoke in snatches of analysis. "Abandoned zoo…Limassol…southern coast…no wonder!...transported by container ship…met at sea…brought ashore unconscious. Remarkable!"

"Ruth?" Graham interrupted her thoughts, concerned that their escape was taking too long.

"We should be quite near the town of Limassol. From there we can talk a farmer or a fisherman into driving us to Nicosia. The A1 runs right through the town and joins the A5 heading north. We'll be back for Harry by tomorrow at the latest," she informed him confidently.

Using the stars to guide their direction, Graham led Ruth away from the sea and toward the town of Limassol—and then they heard it: howls, yelps and barks, becoming louder with each passing heartbeat.

"Quick!" Graham grabbed Ruth's hand, pulling her into the bush at the side of the path they were traversing.

"Graham, they're getting closer! Dogs! Why did it have to be dogs!" she complained, her voice strident and fearful.

Graham hoisted her up into a low hanging branch of a tree. "Climb higher!" he ordered, frantically searching for a weapon, finally laying his hands on a broken tree branch, levering it off the damaged tree to which it clung with surprising tenacity.

"Climb up, Graham. You need to be safe, too."

"There's nothing but these scrawny, spindly trees around here. I'll have to stand guard."

"Strawberry trees."

"What?" He turned and looked up at her as though she were crazy.

"They're called strawberry trees. Graham—" She paused thoughtfully. "Why aren't the dogs getting any closer?"

"I don't know. You stay here," he instructed her, beginning to move stealthily forward.

"Not a chance. We stay together."

They moved back out to the path, hearing the dog's howls fading into the distance followed by a—car horn?

"The road!" Ruth exclaimed. "We've passed the town and met the highway." She laughed, pacing forward toward the sounds that had previously filled them with such trepidation. Waving down a battered grusty pickup truck, Ruth switched easily into the local dialect, turning back to motion Graham into the truckbed beside the crates of fish as Ruth slipped in beside the driver. Opening the window between them, Ruth declared, "He's going to Nicosia."

_Hold on, Dad, we'll be back soon._


	11. Chapter 11

Harry spent the day pretending that everything was normal—well, normal for a family abducted by international thieves and kept in a kennel. There had obviously never been an escape attempt such as theirs because it wasn't until the next day that their captors became suspicious, insisting that Harry produce the pregnant lady and the young man.

"They must have stepped outside," Harry suggested. Newboots gestured for one of the guards to check, who returned quickly shaking his head in the negative. "The toilets?"

Newboots' frown increased to encompass his body and when the second guard returned from the toilets shaking his head, Harry noted the tiniest glint of real fear in the corners of the criminal's eyes. "Bring him!" Newboots commanded.

Harry was manhandled back into the 'reception room', the room with the iron loops embedded in the wall. Harry sighed. _After hoisting them up through the trapdoor, my rib is killing me._ _This is going to hurt!_

Struggling against his captors, Harry used his bulk to slow their progress toward the wall which halted suddenly as shots rang out and the contingent of guards—thieving bullies that they were—froze in trepidation and panicked, shouting and shoving and demanding that their leader save them from their well-deserved doom.

Released abruptly, Harry tried to slip away but Newboots was not so careless. He ordered the men back into ranks, reminding Harry of a Master Sergeant with his soldiers. Sergeant Newboots rounded on Harry, catching him in the side, igniting his ribs with lightning fire, the sudden pain almost causing him to black out. Dragged to the near wall, Harry tried to still the spinning, gasping world as he strained his ears to pick up the progress of the rifle fire outside.

An authoritative voice declared, "The building is secured! You have lost. Surrender now and ensure that murder is not added to the list of charges against you!" Fearful glances were exchanged all around, Newboots' evident frustration and disbelief growing. In a flash he turned on Harry, punching his lights out.

Harry awoke on a stretcher being wheeled into the Nicosia New General Hospital. Ruth's hand was holding his and he squeezed her fingers to prompt her to look at him, the love and concern in her eyes making his heart expand in his chest.

"Harry!" she gasped. "He's awake!" she informed the medics. Released to a small room, they began their examination: flashlights at his eyes; freezing cold stethoscope to his chest; fingers prodding his ribs; et cetera. Finally, when the doctors were convinced that he suffered nought but a broken rib and a laceration above his eyebrow, they left him alone with his family in an examination room awaiting stitches to close the wound on his forehead. Harry sent Ruth for tea knowing that she needed to sit and collect herself and Graham took her place at his side as they awaited the Physician's return.

"You did it, Graham. I'm so proud of you!" Harry effused in a quiet voice, a voice low enough not to set off the story drums of his headache.

"Thanks, Dad. Ruth really is remarkable, you know. Once we got to civilization, she took over, persuading and insisting until she got the response we needed. She was quite fierce when she was arguing with the Deputy High Commissioner."

"She can be quite fierce," Harry confirmed. "Did you find out anything about these villains?"

"It seems to be an international burglary ring just as you suspected. No one has ever found a pattern to these home invasions before because they're careful never to perpetrate too many crimes in any one country. They abduct the victims, move into their homes pretending to watchdog them and then clean out the valuables. No one even knows yet what they do to the victims." He paused, fetching his father a cup of water at the sink in the examination room. "You were right, the Cypriots are only too happy to pass them over to us. The only complication will be if the French or the Dutch decide to prosecute as well."

"Sometimes fiction is stranger than life."

"True. Dad?" Graham began tentatively and Harry encouraged him to continue. "You've been tortured before?"

Harry grew solemn. "Yes."

"Worse than this?"

"Yes, son, much worse."

Graham began speaking slowly, gradually gathering speed. "I remember one birthday in particular that you missed. Mom just kept telling me, 'I told you so' but I remember you coming to see me a few days later with a model of a Lotus Esprit, apologizing for missing my birthday. You had a black eye, stitches on your face, your arm was in a sling and you were limping."

"I remember," Harry responded, his voice husky with emotion.

"Were you tortured?"

"Yes, I was captured and tortured."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Graham accused.

Leaning forward earnestly, Harry replied, "How could I? What would I say? You were just a boy." Harry sighed. "Your mother once told me 'she'd married a nightmare'. I couldn't give you nightmares for the rest of your life. I'd traumatized you enough by then." Harry clasped his hands between his knees, his eyes falling to the floor.

"Why did you do it? Why did you think it was worth it?"

Harry looked up, pleading for his son's understanding. "To make the world a safer place for you and your sister. I suppose that sounds trite and nauseatingly noble but it's true. I wanted to spend my life protecting my country. I'm sorry."

Graham enveloped his father in a bear hug. "Don't apologize. I love you, Dad, in spite of what you do."

By: Author, DC Shaftoe


End file.
